


secrets badly kept

by macwithoutcheese



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Lena's pov, POV Second Person, for the first chapter which is all i've written, i found it in my drafts and figured might as well post it, i think i wrote this before sam, lena Knows because she's brilliant okay, literally just angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwithoutcheese/pseuds/macwithoutcheese
Summary: You know who she is and you feel sick to your stomach and you can't tell if it's because you're upset with Kara or upset at yourself for being upset at all.(Or both.)





	secrets badly kept

You're feeling bitter as you turn the already-muted TV off, grown tired of watching clips of Supergirl save the day yet again, commentated by adoring reporters and breathless citizens, showering the beautiful blonde in compliments and awe.

You're feeling neglected and hurt when, at nightfall, a certain caped superhero finds herself perched on your balcony and you know who she is and you feel sick to your stomach and you can't tell if it's because you're upset with Kara or upset at yourself for being upset at all.

(Or both.)

"Miss Luthor," Supergirl ( _Kara_ ) says in that tone of voice you only ever seem to hear her use in that bright suit, the one that holds confidence and power and steel. The one that almost makes you think you two are nearly strangers except you know you're not.

You're angry, and hurt, and actually pretty tired, so the only reply you give is a clipped noise of acknowledgement, still sitting at your desk with your back turned to her because you feel like being petty because you know who she is and you can't believe she doesn't trust you enough to tell you.

(But you can. You tell yourself you can.)

"You're up late," Supergirl points out to you.

Are you? You check the time with a glance. It's nearly midnight. You hadn't noticed. That would explain the fatigue clinging to your limbs.  
"So are you," you shoot back, turning over a piece of paperwork on the desk without registering what it said.

Most other nights, you'd welcome Kara's company, even in disguise. You had waited for her to tell you. You waited for months. You joked about it, hinted at it, you flirted with both sides of her. You thought she'd tell you as soon as... Something. You don't know exactly. You just thought she'd say. But she hasn't and it hurts more than you want to let it.

Tonight you just want to be alone.

"I'm always up late," Supergirl tells you, a hint of a smile curling her lips.

"As am I," you say shortly. You have always flung yourself into your work because it helps. It always has. It helped through every hardship in your life--through Lillian and Lionel and Lex and Luthor, judgmental citizens and scientists and businesses and workers and humans and aliens, boarding school and heartaches and doomed flings and straight girls and the ignorant and cruel, pretty blonde women made of sunshine and steel who stuttered through sentences like your heartbeat and adjusted their glasses and tucked their hair behind their ear and were self-conscious and shy and brave and strong and protected strangers and stopped bullets with their own body and were more caring than anyone in this universe or any other deserved.

(She's much more than you deserve, even when she keeps secrets that are probably logical to keep.)

(You know it's logical, you thrive on the logical, but all the logic in the world probably can't help the way this feels.)

(Probably because it's Kara.)

(Probably because you can't even try to help how you feel about her.)

(But you probably should start, because this sucks.)

You can't see the way her smile falters but you can almost feel it, and it makes your heart and shoulders plummet.

Supergirl looks at you, and you can feel her eyes on your back. "Long day?" she ventures gently, softly, as if you were something fragile she was afraid of shattering in her hands.

You let out a long breath, trying to alleviate the pressure in your chest. (It doesn't.) "Yes," you admit. You want to correct her. You want to confess that it's been a long month, a long year.

(A long life.)

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Supergirl asks you, and your heart swells in spite of you. You lo-- _like_ that about her, the unending out-pour of care and concern.

"No, Supergirl," you sigh, and ignore the bitter taste the lie leaves on your tongue, "I don't think so." That's the truth. Logically, you know there's no reason for her name to feel so acrid, no reason for you to be so upset about this. And you know you'll get over it, but not tonight. Tonight you want her to leave as much as you want her to stay, and the ambivalence is exhausting.

"Would you...like to talk about it?" she suggests. "It always helps me when I'm upset."

Finally you turn in your chair to face her, and her eyes are studying you so carefully your breath catches because you know it's her and the emotions she radiates counter the implications of the secrecy and you don't know how to feel.

"Who said I was upset?" you ask, simply to be difficult. "I only said I had had a long day."

She falters, like you knew she would, you can see it on her face, but right now she is not Kara Danvers, mild-mannered reporter, and you are not supposed to know who she is. You watch the urge to explain herself, to justify her assumption, drain from her body and she's Supergirl once more and you pretend you're ignorant to it all just so that you can breathe again.

"I could be wrong," she admits, but her tone is so final that it's clear she _knows_ you're upset, "but I thought we were close enough that I could tell when something bothers you." (You are, just not with Supergirl. Maybe not even with Kara.) "We are friends, aren't we?" (Same issue of doubt.)

"Are we?" you ask, but you add a smile like throwing a dog a bone to tell her that you are, even if you really do wonder.

"You don't have to tell me of course," Supergirl starts, and you watch her jittery Kara-hands reach to push up a pair of missing glasses, and the surprise echoing in her eyes as she plays off the action is so endearing you smile. "I just thought maybe it would help." She pauses. "Well, if there's nothing I can do, I don't want to intrude--"

"Why did you come tonight, Supergirl?" you ask.

"Oh, why?" she repeats as if hoping she heard you wrong. "Well, I had finished up my rounds for the night, the streets are quiet, and I saw your light on, so I thought maybe you'd welcome the company."

"How thoughtful," you say, your tone edging towards flirtatious if simply out of habit. "I'm not exactly one to say no to company as exceptional as yours," you tell her, and you hate how easily the words fall from your mouth.

Supergirl smiles at you, and it's not one of the confidant smiles she gives the cameras, not the brilliant solar flares she flashes at her sister and their friends--you've gotten those before--or even one of the tender ones she gives the people she saves--you've been saved by her yourself, and you've only gotten that particular smile once. No, this one is a very Kara smile, one that you've only seen reserved for you, one that you tell yourself you're imagining because it makes no sense that she would have a certain smile just for you, that you're just being _way_ too gay for your own good and need to tone down the fantasizing.

(You don't listen to your own advice.)

(You're a rebel like that.)

But this one really does just feel different. Its nervous but steady, small but strong, reassuring but sad, emotions that contradicted and confused and made your head spin, made you believe you were building skyscrapers out of dollhouses. Concepts that clashed against each other but seemed to flow together seamlessly, like sunshine and steel, laughter and rain, poetry and alcohol.

(A Super and a Luthor.)

The superhero takes a step closer to your desk, comfortable but hesitant, a peculiar blend of Kara Danvers and the stranger that is the Kryptonian before you, and you wonder if, when the two of them are one person, she's someone different entirely. You wonder if anyone actually knows that third Kara.

(You jealously, selfishly, foolishly wish you could.)

Supergirl sits down lightly on your couch, and you stifle a yawn. It's late, and really you've finished as much as you can tonight. Honestly, you're impressed with yourself. You should reward yourself with sleep, but Supergirl is looking at you attentively, openly, as if there are no secrets at all between you. As if you are friends.  
"You know, Miss Luthor, talking out your problems is therapeutic. Keeping them bottled up just makes it worse."

The gentleness in her voice causes a flash of irritation to jolt through you. If she, Kara Danvers in disguise, really wants to hear how you feel, why you're so hurt, why you're second guessing every confident and self-approving thought you've had since this bright, beautiful woman stepped into your life and fought to convince you that you were a good person, so be it. Let her hear.

"Well..." you start, your stomach rolling as you look her defiantly in her clear blue eyes.

(No you're not shaking. You swear.)

"I've been having some issues with a friend of mine, actually."

You see the cool, reassuring expression on the hero's face falter, because you both know (you've said it time and time again) that Kara is your best and only friend in National City. She of all people would be the first to know if you had managed to make another friend in the world, and since she hasn't heard anything about it, it's safe to say it's Kara you're having issues with.

Which means trouble for the blonde on the couch. (But you're not supposed to know that.)

"Should I fling her into the sun?" Supergirl jokes weakly. "I _can_ do that."

"No thank you, Supergirl. I don't really think that's a very heroic thing to do. It's not like she's planning my death," you joke. Unless maybe she is. Unless all you really are is just a Luthor and a Super. Unless every word she's said and every selfless act she's committed in your name was just that--an act, a lie, an elaborate plot to throw you off.

(It sounds ridiculous even to you. This is Kara, the girl who gave her secret away the moment she claimed to have _flown here on a bus_. There's no possible way she could have hidden another big secret from you.)

She laughs along with you, the sound nervous and high. "Well, no, it's not very heroic. But whatever you need from me." Her eyes meet yours, her brow furrowing, trying to silently send you a message you're just not receiving. You don't run on the same frequency, evidently. If you did, maybe you'd be able to silence all the theories that your mind spins to explain the lies and settle on the truth, whether it hurts or not.

(It's going to hurt.)

You sigh heavily and pretend you don't know. "She's keeping something from me," you admit quietly. "Something big. And..." And what? What do you tell her, how much do you give Supergirl so that Kara will know? How many secrets are you willing to keep?

You look at her, and her gaze is steady, comforting, understanding.

"...and I just hope it's not hurting her to hide it," you settle on. It's one of the million truths in your mind. Because even if Kara doesn't lo-- _like_ you as much as you do her, you still care so so much for her, and you hope this is hurting her far less than it's hurting you.

A long strained pause lies between you two, when Supergirl finally speaks. "Lena-- _Miss Luthor_ ," she corrects hurriedly, "I'm sure that your friend isn't...enjoying hiding things from you, if you two are close, and," she offers a tense smile, "I can't imagine you calling anyone a friend unless you are."

"I thought we were," you murmur to your desk, before remembering Supergirl has heightened other-worldly hearing and probably heard, which would actually explain the hiss her breath made when she sucked in and the way her face flickered in distress before speaking again.

"Maybe...confront her about it? Or...give her a chance to tell you?" Supergirl suggests.

"I've given her a chance," you tell her. "I thought I did."

"Miss Luthor, I think you should just...give her some more time. I'm sure there's a reason she hasn't told you yet."

You sigh. "I hope so."

Supergirl is gone within the next ten minutes.

(You still miss her.)

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title from Memphis by Joy Oladokun, which is actually not relevant to the chapter, simply that line. chapter two has like four lines written and I'm highkey lazy. yell at me about things (relevant or otherwise) @gals-s on tumblr


End file.
